


Dusty Loves

by bellaknoti



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dalish, Disaster, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Humour, Kismet, Love, Miscommunication, Poor Life Choices, Reunions, Smut, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-25 21:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaknoti/pseuds/bellaknoti
Summary: Shattered by the loss of Tamlen, Finn Mahariel is never quite the same, and stumbles through the Blight with the help of her friends, just trying to do the right thing and prove--even if only to herself--that she deserves to have survived. Unfortunately, Finn isn't as wise as she is deadly, and it's Alistair she leans on to help her pick up the pieces.





	1. Intoxicated

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes that not only has the reader played through Origins, but is familiar with most of the characters and their personalities as well. I skip a lot of major plot points in the main game, because the reader should be familiar with what happens in between the chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware going forward: I like to write flawed people, because their motivations and thought patterns fascinate me more than the idea of a perfect person. Flawed people make Poor Life Choices, and that leads interesting places that sometimes make you wince with sympathy or growl with frustration.
> 
> The following message is basically my standard for the top of every fic. The presence of these three identifiers doesn't mean that I'll need to use any or all of them in this particular fic, but I like to make sure everyone knows what they're getting into.
> 
> My writing style doesn't really pull punches. I go straight into the violence when the scene calls for it. I don't fade to black on smut. I know what PTSD looks like and what causes it and how that feels, so that probably shows up somehow. Understand that there might be triggering material ahead and brace yourself accordingly. I hate putting warnings, because they can be very spoilery and take away the drama of the moment. 
> 
> However, if I find something in a chapter that definitely needs a rating, I will call it this way:
> 
> "Devil Inside" - if someone is having really, really black inner monologue or wrestling inner demons, remembering triggering events, or other things of that nature, I'll put these words at the top. Don't let your own devils respond.
> 
> "Here There Be Dragons" - if there is an abusive character or situation coming up, I'll post this. Brace yourself. 
> 
> "Darkness Rating ?/5" - anything else you might need to brace yourself for. 1 = casual mention of something that might be a problem, 5 = really, make sure you're in a good headspace if you are still in a place where your PTSD might be triggered.
> 
> Know that evil always gets its due in my books.
> 
> Having said all that: Finn is a wreck. Just brace yourself in general. The whole fic starts out with a Darkness Rating of at least 2/5. This makes my dark little heart happy. 
> 
> May I introduce Finn Mahariel--a very flawed person who starts with PTSD straight out of the gate--and her drunken, highly effective stumble through the Blight...

**.:Prologue:.  
**The Journal

The hillside is scattered with leaves. His face above mine, he smiles in the golden autumn sunlight.

"Caught you." He brushes a lock of hair away from my face, and his blue eyes catch light like a waterfall. "You have leaves in your hair, _lethallan."_

"And the sun on my face," I reply. He smiles again--oh, his smile--then takes my hands and pulls me up to sit next to him. I am breathless and blushing as he runs his fingers through my hair, dislodging all the leaves and debris. He smiles at me with all that I have always seen there, that look in his eyes, the curve of his lips--yes, all this and so much more.

"You know, I don't really think of you as a friend any more," he tells me and something in my stomach twists at this, a flicker of fear at what that might mean.

"What?"

"It's true. Look, I've been working with Ilen. I made this for you." I look down, and in his hands he holds a leather-bound book. The cover is tooled with star-shaped flowers and a swirling pattern that reminds me of fern leaves. The paper inside is a creamy yellow, heavy enough for sketching, light enough that there are many, many pages within.

"Tamlen," I breathe. "It's beautiful. How can I ever thank you?"

"I know how much you love to draw and write, so I made this... because... I realized... I found the woman I want to bond with," he tells me almost hesitantly, as though he's nervous. Afraid to tell me. The bottom drops out of my stomach, and I can feel the blood draining out of my face. _A goodbye present._ I feel sick.

"Uh... That's great, Tamlen..." My voice cracks and I wince. I think I'm going to cry, right when he's studying me intently.

"I thought you would be happy," he says, worried now, and I force a smile. How can I ruin my best friend's joyful news?

"Oh, but I really am. You deserve to have the life you want, to find what makes you happy," I tell him, and look away. "Who is she?"

He's silent so long, I look back to see what's wrong. He's just sitting there, stunned, as though he can't believe what he sees before him, then he shakes his head. Gently, he reaches out and turns the book over in my hands. At first, I see nothing but the pattern, but the longer I look at it, the more it begins to look like language... and then... I see it. Our names, in Elvish, intertwined and cleverly set within the pattern. My mouth drops open in surprise.

"Yes, of course, _you_. What did you think, that I would abandon you?" He kisses me, then, for the first time, and I am utterly _electrified_ by it. I can't help but respond as I tangle my fingers in his soft hair, softer than the finest down, my Tamlen--

When I open my eyes, the sunlight has turned to grey. The trees are blacker, bleaker.

"But--" I swallow, shake my head "You _did,_ my love... You did!" The weight of him is missing, and I sit up, but there is nothing but mud and ashes, naked trees and grey clouds. The book in my hands crumbles to dust and blows away.

I sit up abruptly, a scream bitten in half by my actual waking. There is that man I've been travelling with for two days, Duncan. He sits across the fire from where I had put my pallet to sleep. He watches me with dark eyes, dark hair, the exact opposite of my lost Tamlen. Duncan, who would not let me go after him. We were already bonded, even if we hadn't done the ceremony yet, we knew, we knew what we wanted. I should have died next to him, I should have gone with him. Now, the mirror is destroyed, and there's no going back, no finding him again, too late for everything. I swallow hard before I bolt from my bedroll and flee, out into the forest. A hillside, covered in leaves. I fall to my knees and weep for my lost love.

 

 

 **.:1:.**  
Intoxicated

Pure ambrosia. It tastes like liquid summer, burns with the fire of the sun. She feels the sunshine, tastes the apples and honey. She closes her eyes and sees him, standing in the sunlight, bow in hand, arrow measured to the goal, the flex of his arms and the certainty in his eyes. She remembers again the strength of his body and the smell of his neck. She remembers again the feel of the forest floor against her feet. His face rising above hers. _Caught you._ His hands holding hers, the journal lying heavy in her palms. Kissing on the hillside. That long night when he held her under the stars, and pledged his life to hers.

Somewhere along the way, she drops the empty bottle.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

When Alistair finds her, she's in the corner of a pub, under a bench against the wall, reeking of wine and honey. Again. Maker's breath, would she never trust him enough to at least come back to camp when she gets this way? Every time they have a night off, he finds her somewhere, passed out, just like this. Sometimes he finds her this way in her tent when it's her turn at watch, but he doesn't say anything. What matters at this point is that she's done it in a taproom again. He lays a hand against her shoulder before he speaks.

"Finn," he murmurs, trying to wake her. "Come on, we have to go back to camp." She rouses and crawls out from under the bench, but when she tries to stand up, she stumbles to the side. He tries to steady her, but her knees aren't working and she lists, keeling over; he catches her before she can fall and cradles her against his chest. His face is clouded, concern and anger warring for precedence, even as she wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head against his shoulder.

"Tamlen," she breathes, "You found me." He sighs with irritation as his eyebrows snap down, and elbows open the door. The other patrons look at him with pity or suspicion in their eyes. The latter, he can shoulder; it's the former that breaks his heart.

He trudges down the long road back toward camp and she falls asleep almost immediately, before he's taken ten steps from the door. His heart fills with dread as the time inches closer to half an hour since she closed her eyes against his shoulder. He knows what must inevitably come. It isn't long before she begins to shake in his arms, in the throes of one of her dreams again.

"Shh... shh... it's okay, you're safe," he murmurs under his breath. She begins to twitch, and he knows it's going to be a bad one. They near the river, and he sits on the ground, his back to a rock. And none too soon, as she begins her thrashing shortly after that. He holds her by the wrists to keep her from hitting him, and waits for her to ride it out, to awaken. All the while, he repeats her name, tries to call her back, tells her she's safe, that it's all a dream. Just like all the other times, the only useful action he's taken is to hold on to her, because she wakes screaming again.

"No! NO! _Tamlen!"_ The name echoes out into the night, a cry of horror and loss. But she's awake now, staring out at the trees. "Tamlen," she says, her voice breaking with the sob that starts the crying. He pulls her against him, waiting for her to still again, and she buries her face in his neck, pouring her broken heart all over his armour. When at last she shudders to a halt, he stands up and carries her back to camp. On nights like this, she falls asleep this way, and never remembers it in the morning.

Leliana and Morrigan look up at him as he draws near the fire, in camp at last, and lays Finnariel out on her bedroll. Alistair covers her with his cloak while Ponka sniffs her from head to toe, and finally settles down next to her. Ponka fixes Alistair with a reproachful look but he spreads his hands helplessly.

"I'm just trying to keep her safe, Ponka, the same as you." Ponka snorts and closes his eyes, and Finn rolls in her sleep to throw her arm around his neck.

Sten arrives with a load of firewood and lays it down behind a log while Alistair is taking off his armour. After dusting off his tunic and breeches, he kneels next to the bubbling stew-pot, but Leliana quickly reaches over and bats his hand away. Sten gives her a sharp look, but she just smiles and shakes her head. 

"It's not finished yet, Sten; the potatoes are still hard." Sten grunts and nods, then rises to stand outside the firelight with his back to it, staring out into the night.

Alistair drops onto a log set by the fire and tries to focus on repairing the leather straps of his pauldron, but his gaze keeps straying to Finn, who is beginning to shake again. Ponka lifts his head and whines, looking at Alistair, his big doggy face full of worry.

Alistair knows what Ponka is asking for, and he sighs, resigned to it as he nods. He seems to be the only person who can do much about it when she gets like this. 

Ponka moves out of the way as Alistair sits down next to her. Before he can do anything else, she unexpectedly rises up and clutches his shirt, moaning and muttering in her sleep. She pulls him off-balance, and he ends up laying next to her and she immediately wraps an arm around his waist and buries her face in his shoulder. He can hear her, now.

"Alone, alone," she mumbles, "You left me all alone..." She's dreaming of her lost lover again. Of course she is. He leans down to whisper in her ear, just like he has every other time. It never works, but he hopes one of these times... it will.

"Finn, it's me, it's Alistair... remember? You're a Grey Warden now. We're family now, right? Isn't that what you told me? You're not alone." He catches her hand. "You're not alone, Finnariel, come back to me." Incredibly, this time, it works. The shaking stops, and she takes a long breath, the clouds fading from her brow.

"Alistair...?" she breathes, her fingers flexing more tightly in his shirt.

"Yes," he affirms, watching her carefully. She smiles, and in that moment his heart constricts, because the look on her face, Maker, she's asleep--it's entirely candid. And the bloom of beauty that he watches unfurl, how it seems like a profound peace settles on her, it grips him tightly. He feels protective as she curls closer against him, taking a long breath as she tucks her face against his shoulder more comfortably and holds tightly.

"I love you," she sighs softly, and then she's gone again.

Alistair knows he can't be sure if she was talking to him or the memory of her lost lover, but she said _his_ name, and she knew she was with _him_ when that look painted her face. Whatever demons of her past may prey on her tonight, it's _his_ arms she's content to lie in, and that's enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally featured on Swooping is Bad at Livejournal in 2010. My abilities have improved somewhat from the beginning, so while I have a strong urge to rewrite the whole thing, I've tried to leave it more or less intact and just add detail. Hopefully fans of the old version will appreciate the upgrade.


	2. Going Home

"All right, all right, I'll look at the map," Finn grumbles, looking at the sky and the turning of the stars, judging her position, the time. Alistair had been after her for days, but 'Shemlen scribbles' make so little sense to her, she felt no pressing need, she said, but he knows that this time, she's going to be glad he didn't give up.

"Don't you even want to know where we're going?" he asks, impatience in his voice, a plea on his face, and an ache in his heart. She looks at him briefly, but her gaze slides away, going distant when it reaches the trees, her mind already fading to the past.

He hangs his head briefly. It's the end of the day and she's at the point where she's reached the end of her rope. They are sitting hunched over a stump, the map laid out between them; the light of the fat, waxing moon lends a silvery sheen to her skin, and the pale tattoo stands out in sharp detail. He wants to smooth away the lines of sorrow, ease the sharp edges of her shattered heart, but she isn't really responding to him. She fights, she wants to live, but there is a hollowness that he cannot reach, not with the echo of another man's arms still about her. Leliana can, in some ways; Finn will lean against her, let the Chantry sister play with her hair and chatter away. He even saw them kiss, once, but Finn was miles away. He feels sorry for Leliana. But now, right now, it's important that she pay attention, be present, or they will be unprepared.

"Finn." He calls her name twice more before he finally gets fed up. His voice is hard when he uses her full name, in Elvish, the lilting, strangely rhyming name that feels like liquid on his tongue.

 _"Finnariel Mahariel."_ She jumps, suddenly crashing down into the here and now, her eyes wide. His smile is wry.

"Don't look so shocked; of course I know your name. I was listening, you know. I do that." Then he points at her. "But you have not been, and this is important. So, look at the map." He sets his finger down on the map, as she looks down, apparently bored, possibly humouring him. "This is where we are..." He slides his finger across the map to the Brecilian Forest. "...and this is where we will be in two days' time." She looks up at him sharply.

"The Brecilian Forest?" Her voice is strange, wobbly. She's suddenly miles away again; she sees right through him, and he sees it, the moment she loses track of what's  _now._ When she jumps to her feet, gaze fixed on some distant point, Alistair stands, his hands held out cautiously, wary for a sudden movement.

She bolts.

Alistair is ready for her, though; this isn't the first time she's lost herself. He leaps to the side and wraps his arms around her waist.

"Oh no you don't!" Her momentum spins them around and he rolls to take the brunt of the impact as they careen to the ground. She thrashes like a wild thing, not remembering who she's with, not seeing now at all, but he is more deft at grappling. Soon he has wrestled her to her back and pinned her to the ground. He straddles her, hands pressing her shoulders down.

"Heh. Caught you," he pants.

She freezes, stone-still, as her gaze clears and she suddenly sees him. He cannot figure out why she looks so shocked... and... horrified? She flings her head to the side, her hair falling over her face, and begins to shake. He scrambles off of her, and she rolls to the side, curling into a tight little ball.

"Finn-- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" He reaches out to her, but she flinches back and he pulls his hand away, stung. Leliana dashes over to join them, and she gives Alistair a confused and slightly suspicious look.

"What happened?" she demands, hovering protectively over Finn. He holds his hands up: I surrender.

"I told her where we're going. I think maybe she was going to run all the way to the Brecilian Forest tonight. I caught her. That's all."

Finn spends the night in Leliana's tent. Alistair broods over first watch.

Dawn comes too quickly for all of them, except Finn, who sets a leg-breaking pace. They all have to practically run to keep up with her, and they reach the Forest a little under a full day ahead of schedule.

 _"Andaran atish'an,"_ the hunter says when they're greeted.

 _"Aneth ara, sister,"_ Finn replies, her voice cracking. The Dalish hunters look at all the rest of them with distrust as they put their arms around Finn's shoulders.

"What about the Shemlen?" one of them asks and Finn looks over her shoulder, the tears plain on her face.

"They're my friends," she says without hesitation, then looks back at the Dalish. "They're safe." Reluctantly, the hunters allow the rest of them to follow, taking her at her word despite their apparent unease. The companions follow behind Finn, into the Dalish camp.

Over the fire, as they all eat the food the clan shares with them, they tell the companions of their plight, of the curse and the ravening beasts who have been taking down their hunters, one by one. Finn is horrified. Her bowl sits in her hand, roasted tubers and deer forgotten.

" _That_ is why there are so many wounded on the cots?" Sombre faces all around give her the unspoken answer, and her own sets with the kind of resolve Alistair rarely sees.

"I will go into the wild, I will find these things, and I will kill them. I have the strongest people I could ever ask for at my back, and these things... these _beasts_ will fall before us like so many felled saplings. The wood _will_ be safe again. Such a threat cannot stand, or all the clans will suffer losses we can ill afford as they pass through this place." She looks around the ring of faces. They are worried, all, but there is also now a spark of hope. "We will depart at first light," she assures them.

Trying to get anywhere with Finn today becomes a lost cause, once she's enfolded into the tribe. Their own habitual camp is set up in the forest, outside of the Dalish grounds, and those who stay behind begin their usual tasks. Alistair refuses to leave Finn's side, as he's pretty sure she might lose herself and not want to walk away when it's time. Finn spends a large part of the afternoon by the fire, sitting with a man named Sarel, who seems to be the clan's storyteller. She cries as she speaks of the events that led to her coming into this camp. The expressions of those who listen echo her sorrow, and a few of the women come to sit beside her, to pet her hair, hug her, and sing a heartbreaking, keening song with her. Alistair feels awkward and leans against a tree, trying to be inconspicuous.

Eventually, being in the arms of her people, she calms. After a time, as the camp life goes on around her, she begins to relax, as well, and soon she is genuinely laughing and honestly smiling, something Alistair has never seen her do. All her smiles have been sad, all her laughter forced. He had no idea until now, and this hurts him. She joins the women, carrying baskets of herbs and vegetables out of the woods, making dinner. 

At the end of the evening, Finn makes her goodbyes and rises from the fire to return to camp for the night. Outside of the firelight, a young man catches her sleeve and speaks to her earnestly. She is saddened by his tale, and agrees to help him. Alistair hangs back as Finn approaches a young girl, listening but trying not to be an interference.

"Gheyna, Cammen says you will not bond with him until he's had his hunt. Is this so?" Finn asks earnestly and the girl nods.

"He's not truly a man unless he's brought down his first kill," she explains. Finn ducks her head and sighs, then looks back at the girl.

"Tell me, do you love him? Truly?" Gheyna colours, but nods. "Then listen carefully: I was bonded, once." Finn swallows hard, her skin going just a little paler, and Alistair's heart twists.

"You never--" Her voice cracks as he sees the pain rush up on her again, but she continues. "You never know how much time you have. Do not let something so _trivial_ stand in the way of whatever time you may be granted. Love him, and love him well. Don't deny your hearts, lest you come to bitterly regret all those wasted moments." Finn turns away as fresh tears threaten, her hands shaking as she tucks them under her arms, pinning them against her sides. Gheyna dashes off and Alistair averts his eyes as he sees her meet with the young man in the shadows of the firelight to share a passionate kiss.

Finn is at his side, watching his face, when he looks down at her. He feels the easy smile curving his lips, and knows he's caught. The weight of her gaze has changed, as though something dark within her has flown. She's softer, actually present, and he wonders if she'll take her own advice. They begin walking back toward their camp, and outside of the Dalish caravans, in a clearing between here and there, when it's just the two of them and there's nothing but open sky above, she stops and looks up again. The stars always draw her so strongly.

"Alistair--" her voice catches, and she takes a deep breath. "I..." she begins, but then she looks at him and her expression changes, that blooming he saw on her just once. It's a glimpse, but it's there, and he's at a loss for words as she takes a step toward him. It's almost like she's never seen him before, the way she looks at him right now, and it grips his heart so tightly it steals his breath. She sways toward him, and he lifts his hands, but she stops herself with a soft gasp, a wince.  
  
For a moment there, she _forgot_. The only people here for just that moment were the two of them, and when she was in that moment, she wanted him. If he can find a way to keep her present--

"I-- I wanted to... to thank you," she murmurs. "Thank you for bringing me home... Even if we can't stay." She smiles then, looking up at him askance, and he sees her face in profile. That smile, it's real, and it's for him. She turns and heads off into the darkness, and he follows behind, trying to wipe the grin off his face.

She _saw_ him.

The waiting around part is _awesome._


	3. Echoes of the Present

_Finnariel sits next to Ashalle, peeling a leek. A basket with a handful of_ _mushrooms, and some herbs and berries still left in it sits upon a stone_ _next to her. Ashalle efficiently peels a dwindling pile of potatoes._ _They smile, each intent on their jobs, in silent competition. Finnariel's_ _basket is nearly empty, but a potato is quickly peeled at the pace Ashalle_ _can move her knife._ _A hand falls lightly upon FInnariel's left shoulder a split second before she_ _hears the murmur in her right ear._

 _"Caught you." She jumps, letting out_ _a startled squeak, and he laughs quietly as he rests his chin on her shoulder._

 _"Tamlen!" she admonishes, her heart still racing. "It doesn't count," she_ _protests, "We weren't even runni--" She turns her face too quickly and_ _finds herself close enough that she can feel his breath on her skin._ _When did this begin, these things he does to her heart? She's_ _hesitated too long, and he pulls back a little bit as he arches an amused_ _eyebrow, then grins._

_"Guess what I've brought you," he challenges, a spark in his eye, and she smiles back._

_"Hmmm... Is it... strawberries?" He shakes his head. "No._ _Oh! Is it... hmm... a new small knife?" He shakes his head "no" again, and_ _the impish twinkle in his eye brightens. "No? Aw. All right, one more. Is it..._ _elk?" His grin widens, and she knows she's guessed. "Elk!"_ _No one is better at pinning down those fast, intelligent creatures; he is the best archer in their clan. Finnariel throws her arms around Tamlen's shoulders and squeals. "Eee! Thank you!" He produces a furry bundle as she sits back._

_"So, have I earned a place at your fire?" Inside a piece of scraped rabbit skin there's a fair pile of cleaned, boned, and sliced meat. Finnariel blushes and brushes her arm against his._

_"Oh, I suppose." She_ _feigns a put-upon demeanour, but can't maintain it. He pokes her in the ribs and she giggles. Every evening, the same question, every evening,_ _the same answer: yes, of course._ _She turns back to her basket to find Ashalle triumphantly dicing the_ _last of her potatoes into the pot. She turns to Finnariel, smug._

 _"Hah--_ _You get to do the washing," she teases._

_"Not fair! Tamlen distracted me!" Finnariel protests, and Ashalle grins over her shoulder as she places the tripod over the fire._

_"Ah, dogs bark, but the caravan goes on," Ashalle retorts with a laugh as she turns away. Finnariel sticks her tongue out at Ashalle, then looks at Tamlen._

_"You're_ _helping me," she declares and he laughs as time slows down. She can see_ _the side of his face, the turn of his head, the breath of wind that_ _pushes a lock of hair over his eye. His hand brushes hers as he reaches_ _into the basket, and he caresses the back of her hand with his own as he_ _withdraws a handful of herbs. Her heart and breath catch at the same_ _moment. The sun shining through the trees behind him blinds her._

"Of course," he says.

She frowns. That's not right... When she opens her eyes, she finds herself lying on her bedroll, Alistair sitting next to her. Her legs are hooked under his knees and she has her arm wrapped around his waist. He's propped an arm on her, his elbow at her shoulder, his hand on her waist. Leliana laughs quietly.

"All right, then. You can feel the darkspawn near. How did you gain that sense? What is it like?" There is a pause while Alistair considers what to say before finally speaking again.

"We aren't supposed to talk about it, so there's not a lot I can tell you. But... it involves magic, and after it's done..."

Alistair trails off, going silent for a moment. Finn thinks of Daveth, of Jory. She remembers the wilds and her first darkspawn. Alistair has always been so strong, and she wonders with rising sorrow how many deaths he had to witness at the Joining cup, never mind what aching loss it is to lose everyone you know. They share this horror, and her heart constricts when she realizes it. After a few moments, she feels him literally shake himself before he continues.

"Er, after it's done, they... it's like a smell, only it's not really there. It's-- It's like a shiver, only I don't actually feel it, it's--" he pauses, and Finn feels him shift as he gestures with the hand that doesn't rest on her waist, apparently at a loss for words. She knows what he means. It's a strange rush under the skin, almost like the echo of tasting what rot smells like. "It's hard to explain, but there's no mistaking it." The first time she felt it, she screamed. She's not proud of it, but Alistair was right next to her with his shield forward and it was so easy to be brave, then, with him beside her.

"The Wardens are also connected to each other, are they not? One night she woke from a nightmare of a dragon, and you said you had shared that same dream. The archdemon." Alistair doesn't respond at first, and Finn can hear the smile in her voice. "You thought I wasn't listening, didn't you. You're connected to them by that magic. But if that is so, can they be connected to you?" she asks, and Alistair sighs.

"I wouldn't be surprised to find it." He sounds weary, resigned. Finn listens to the fire crackle and pop as Leliana throws another log on. The wind sighs through the trees, but with Alistair on one side and the fire on the other, she's warm. She doesn't want to move, and this is a revelation of its own. Just as Finn is about to drift off, contemplating the implications of her apathy, Leliana murmurs to Alistair again, getting her attention.

"How is she, really?"

"Not so good, I think. She was better there, for a while, when we were among her people, but then the way it all happened... And afterwards when everyone was back to their natural form and she realized Danyla--" He lifts his hand away from her side to gesture and a blast of cold air slides across her skin, right through her tunic, making her shiver. Alistair puts his arm back down and turns slightly. The warmth of his body is a second sharp contrast, and she can feel the weight of him hovering above her; she finds it strange that this brings her such a sense of peace. The man is huge, compared to her. Solid muscle and strength, entirely the opposite of her lost archer. When did this happen? But then, if she really thinks about it she's always felt safe with him, from the moment he picked her up off the ground after the Joining.

He's right. She blames herself for Danyla. She should have told the woman to wait, to just have patience, to believe in them, that she would find a cure. But she didn't. She didn't. And now-- Alistair turns back and resumes in a quieter voice, interrupting her thoughts.

"I would almost think it might have been better to go some place else entirely, if it weren't for one thing." Finn's budding indignation is cut short by the second half of his sentence, and she finds she has the same question as Leliana.

"What's that?"

"She still doesn't remember anything in the mornings, but when she fights her nightmares, she lets me stop her thrashing now. She still screams, but sometimes if I tell her that it's me, she'll open her eyes, and she'll see me, and then..." Alistair trails off again, searching for words, and Finn feels him shifting as he gestures again. "It's like she'll let me save her from drowning, but only if she doesn't know it." Her stomach twists into a knot. Does she really do that? Ah, but Alistair wouldn't lie. She had no idea this was going on. He never told her. Has she been pulling him from his own sleep?

"Do you worry that one night she may wake up and find herself like this with you?" Leliana asks, and he exhales slowly.

"Yes..." He does sound cautious, and that bothers her. What does he think she would do? "I try to be careful about that. The problem is, after she's had these dreams, she seems to need me to stay, so hopefully she won't hit me." Hit him? When had she ever shown signs-- oh. In her sleep. Does she really make him so afraid? Guilt begins to overwhelm her.

Finn's head swirls with so many unanswered questions. Family, she had said. It had been a moment of weakness, a longing for something that had been ripped out at the root, a way to balm the ragged edges, stop the bleeding. Alistair had embraced that much more fully than she had; her words had been as hollow as her heart. His had not. He deserves so much respect, but she's just felt as grey as her title.

Even among her own people, while the routine was comfortable enough to give her a sense of grounding, they are not her clan, and her place among _them_ was eaten by a mirror and most likely died from the Taint. Her home is with the Wardens, with Alistair, now--her own words. That was when she thought she could never go back, but is it any less true? Seeing them again hurt, but also closed up that emptiness. Her people are still there, but her home has gone. So what now? This peace, this comfort she feels here, with these shemlen, with this Warden, her brother-in-arms, her friend, is this a betrayal?

"You love her," Leliana says observantly, and she feels Alistair go very still.

"I didn't say--" he begins, but Leliana interrupts with a small laugh.

"You cannot deny it--you already asked me about it." Finn's heart stops. He did? He what? He _what?_ Leliana drops her voice low in pitch to imitate his, her Ferelden accent very credible. "'So you're a female, right?'" She laughs again quietly, no trace of judgement or mockery. Alistair exhales, relaxing, and a puff of air, the shadow of a laugh, escapes him. She feels his stomach flex against her arm as he relaxes, as he laughs, then realises abruptly that she's never touched him when he wasn't wearing armour. She is suddenly hyper-aware of every place they touch, his hand now a scorching weight.

"All right, all right-- Yes. But it doesn't change anything." Finn feels like she swallowed a rock, frozen to the spot by this revelation.

"Oh, I don't know," Leliana argues gently, her voice warm and reassuring. "You just said you were having an effect on her."

"That's at night," Alistair replies, sounding somewhat defeated. "She only reaches for me in her sleep. Everything is still the same in the morning."

"They say the things that we do and dream while we are sleeping are sometimes expressions of the the things we can't allow ourselves while we are awake. What have you dreamed about that you couldn't have?" There's a long pause, and then Leliana laughs again. "It's something to think about, no? I'm going to bed." Finn hears her squeak, and knows the stretch that causes it, smiling in the hidden darkness by Alistair's hip.

"Goodnight," Alistair replies. There is a rustle of canvas, then just the quiet of the night. After awhile, Alistair slowly lifts his arm from her side, pulling a cloak over her to keep the wind off. He unwinds her arm from his waist and kisses her fingers before turning to tuck her arm in next to her. As he wraps the cloak over her shoulder, he looks at her face, and freezes when his eyes meet hers. There's a flinch of fear in his eyes, and she hates it. What does he think she will do? She never wants him to look at her that way again.

"Er... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Third watch isn't for another few hours."

"I've been awake for awhile, actually," she whispers. He pales, but she grabs his hand before he can move back.

"How much did you hear--" he begins, looking slightly panicked, but she grips his hand more tightly and swallows hard.

"I-- I... heard. All of it," she admits, her stomach twisting again. And she hadn't wanted to move from his side, from the way she was curled with him. She hadn't wanted him to move his hand. She hadn't wanted him to leave her there alone.

Alistair sits down again and she props herself up on her elbow to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. When had they begun leaking? He glances away and there's an awkward silence for a moment before his gaze meets hers again. She doesn't shy from it, but she feels the heat rising in her cheeks. She feels her heart racing. She's pretty sure she's not fooling anyone.

"Do you think you could ever... come to feel the same way about me?" Alistair asks haltingly and she takes a deep breath as it feels like her hair is about to catch fire.

"I-- I don't-- I don't know, Alistair... it's... it's... too soon," she protests, but it sounds weak--she knows it does--and she doesn't succeed in convincing even herself.

"Is it too soon for this?" he asks, and suddenly his face is close, his breath on her skin. When he kisses her, his lips are soft and warm, and a shiver bolts down her spine as she inhales and he smells like wind and forest. Somewhere within, something gives way like a burst riverbank at spring flood and she leans into him, drawn in by his kindness, his gentleness, his steady strength. She becomes more intoxicated as the moments pass and she is entirely pliant as he pulls her closer, his arms folding around her as her hand rises to slide up over his shoulder. She can feel his heartbeat against her chest, wild as her own. _Alistair,_ a voice breathes in the back of her mind, and it sounds suspiciously like desire.

In the next instant, she's assailed by a vivid memory of Tamlen, his touch, his smile, his kiss, the way he smelled. Finn gasps, choking on the vision and the overwhelming feeling of betrayal that blooms to life in her stomach like a black weed. She pulls back abruptly and bursts into silent tears, covers her mouth with her hand and bows her head, her hair hiding her expression as she takes a shaking breath. She hears Alistair curse under his breath as he begins to move away, but she reaches out again, grabs his hand once more.

"No-- No don't-- I don't-- I don't know, but don't-- Stay. Please." The agony of divided loyalty chokes her, strangles her voice. When she continues, it's in but a whisper, barely able to speak for the stone in her throat. "I want to be here. With you. Please-- Please. Don't go."

He settles beside her once more, his gaze level when it rests on her. Something about the way he looks at her has changed, and that alone sets her heart to racing again. She swallows hard, slowly turning and shifting, settling herself closer to him, until her hip touches his. She looks up at him again then, and his gaze has darkened. When his arm circles her waist, she closes her eyes and tucks her face against his shoulder, drawing a shaking breath.

"That first night, after we left the Wilds, I thought--" she begins haltingly, tears threatening, and his hand flexes gently, his voice soothing.

"I know," he says, averting her confession. "I found you and brought you back to camp." She sucks in a breath, trembling at the implications.

"What about the night I had that bottle of honey whiskey--" when she'd dreamed Tamlen carried her through the darkness.

"Yes," Alistair says, his voice still gentle. It hadn't been Tamlen.

"I dreamed he was there behind me, telling me everything was all right, holding me, even as I was watching him--" But this doesn't sound like protest. It sounds like a man who has been with her and defending her.

"That was me," Alistair says, and she swallows hard.

"And right after Lothering, I was--" she begins, and his fingers spread over her waist, almost protectively. She had been chasing down an elk with Tamlen.

"Running through the wood, half-naked," he supplies. She hadn't been with Tamlen at all.

"That's why my feet were cut," she says, almost a question but not quite, because the answer is obvious.

"I tried to help you, but you were fighting me. I had to pin you down and wait until morning." Finn is horrified by this revelation and covers her mouth again, eyes wide, even as Alistair remains steady. Then she remembers him telling Leliana he hoped she wouldn't hit him. She remembers the flicker of fear when he noticed she was awake, and her stomach turns as tears threaten again. No-- No, he couldn't possibly think she's like that, could he? Creators-- no, please not that.

"Did I hit you?" she asks, her voice small and trembling. It crushes her when he nods, and the tears roll down over the hand that covers her mouth as she turns her face away. He deserves so much better than that. Than her. "Oh-- Creators-- I'm-- I'm so sorry, Alistair. I had no idea. I didn't mean to-- I would never--"

"I know," he says, still gentle even now, and his hand strokes up her arm, soothing her. "It's not your fault. You were asleep; no one controls what they do in their sleep."

Finn slowly reaches up and lays her hand flat against his other shoulder, sliding up to curl over the top of it as she tucks her face against his chest again. Being with him like this, alone in the firelight, no armour in the way, feels incredibly intimate, and she draws a slow breath, her eyes slipping closed as her heart constricts and a flock of birds erupts into flight in her stomach.

She doesn't want to move, for this moment to end.

Her voice is thin and reedy with emotion, as she forcibly pulls each sentence from her mouth, terrified that he'll push her away, when she speaks next.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been fair to you. Even if I didn't know it, you deserve more than what I've given." She takes a shuddering breath. "But... I can't make you any promises. I'm so..." Her throat constricts with all the anguish and darkness that she cannot express. More tears slip from her eyes as she feels his lips press to her forehead and linger, her lips parting on the echo of a gasp as she inhales, and her nose is filled once more with his scent. He pulls on her deeply, and that frightens her, but she doesn't want him to stop. That would be so much worse.

"I know," he says again, and swallows. "So am I," he whispers. "There's nothing but blood and wreckage behind us, and the promise of more, every day, maybe until we slay the archdemon, maybe until we die." He pauses, shakes his head, his arm tightening around her. "Maker, that's bleak," he says, sounding almost reproachful, even though it was his own comment. "But... right now, this night, this moment: I'm here, and you're here, and it's quiet. For a little while, we could sleep, and the world could be alright for a few hours without us." He wants to leave her now. Of course he does. This-- does it mean anything?

He told Leliana he loves her.

"Sleep?" she asks, her voice still weak as she looks up at him once more. His eyes are still dark, intent, and she trembles inside.

"Yes," he confirms, but doesn't elaborate. She has to pull up her courage, ask the question that she is terrified of. She doesn't want him to go.

"Can-- Can I stay with you?" she asks in a rush, before she has a chance to change her mind or stop herself, her fingers flexing against his shoulder as though that could ever be enough to make him stop if he had a mind to stand up and leave. He's so strong it amazes her regularly.

"You have been already, you know. When you do sleep, that is... You don't like to let go, much," he tells her, his face still serious, and she knows he can't be lying. He can't be anyway. He's Alistair. He would never lie to her.

"Tsh. You are not the first to say so." She takes a deep breath and looks at him for a long moment. He's already held her through the night many times. What harm is there in letting him when she knows? When she knows he loves her. When all she wants is to not leave his side. At all.

"All right," she agrees, and sits up again. He looks surprised, and she feels anxious when he rises. It must show on her face, because he immediately turns back to lean down and cup her cheek in his broad, callused palm, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone. What that does to her heart is almost painful, but she wouldn't trade it, not for anything.

"I'm going to wake Morrigan for watch," he tells her-- still so gentle, reassuring, and she nods. He straightens and crosses the camp with long strides. Morrigan grumbles as she leaves her hut, but she comes to the fire behind Alistair. He halts at Finn's side and holds his hand out for her, to help her rise. Of course she takes it, though her motion is slow for the wildness of her heart, but her fingers curl around his and she stands at his side, looking up at him. He's so tall...

He leads her over to his tent and pulls the canvas aside for her. Her heart is beating so hard she can hear it in her ears and she takes a shaking breath, but she kneels down in front of it and brushes off her feet before moving inside. She's in his tent. A soft bedroll is under her hands, fur and blankets, and she crawls forward as he ducks in behind her.

She's suddenly worried he expects more, but he does nothing of the sort. Of course he doesn't.

Alistair pulls the blankets and furs aside and lays down, then holds them up for her to join him. Carefully, she crawls in beside him and lays down with him, heart in her throat as she tucks her face against his shoulder once more, and his arms close around her as her own hand curves over his opposite shoulder once more. She can hear his heartbeat now instead of her own, and it lulls her, makes her feel safe with its steadiness, just like him. She had no idea--

As his warmth seeps into her, his quiet strength surrounding her, she quickly drifts off, far faster than she would ever have expected.

He stares up at the ceiling of the tent, listening to her soft breathing and the sounds of the night.

"Right," he murmurs. "Right. I can handle this... I hope."


	4. Detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is taking me a lot longer to update because there's more to fix. This one, for instance, required several rewritten scenes, and the addition of a couple more from scratch where I forgot to "show, don't tell." I hope you find your patience rewarded, and please comment if you can; encouragement makes the words flow more easily. -b

"I want to go back."

Finn pauses over her bowl of soup, a dripping crust of bread in her hand, and looks at Alistair blankly.

"What?"

Alistair has been silently staring into the fire long enough that her mind wandered and she forgot where she was again. His steady eyes bring her back to the present.

"Ostagar. I want to go back," he says, his teeth partly bared as though it's hard for him to say at all. Why would he want to do that? Why?

"It's a graveyard, Alistair... and crawling with darkspawn," she says, trying to be gentle, but surely he knows this. She has to swallow past the rock in her throat to carry on, thinking about everything that was lost in just one calamitous night. It's too enormous-- and he wants to go back. "Why?" Her voice is a rusty hinge.

"I doubt there are many left, with nothing alive to devour. They will have moved on by now," he says, but her stomach rolls, and something in her Warden intuition for darkspawn tells her that the place won't be as quiet as they might hope. "There are things we need to set right before we go north again, maybe for good." She might not know for sure whether she fully agrees with him, but what she does know is that she respects him more than enough to back him when he says he wants to do something, especially if it's important to him.

She looks down at her bowl, the intensity of his gaze burning in her mind's eye. No longer hungry, she sets it aside, then turns to her pack to rummage for the rolled leather that contains their map. Once Alistair gets over his surprise that she's listening to him and not arguing, they flatten out the map and weigh the corners with stones. Shoulder to shoulder, they sit and trace the paths of the roads with their fingers.

"If we turn south now, we can reach Ostagar in... maybe a week and a half," he says, and she nods.

"But then we have to get back out again," she says, an ominous feeling in her gut that she can't shake. "That's a long time to spend in their territory. Look: we'll cross into their path here, heading toward the Korcari Wilds, through here... west to Ostagar... then up this way... north-west to Redcliffe... they'll be everywhere." Finn chews her lip and looks at her companions. Ponka lies by the fire, eyeing Morrigan's stew bowl.

 _"Oh no,_ you do not fool _me,_ you big furry lump. This is _my_ lunch," Morrigan says tartly, but Ponka whines piteously. After a moment, Morrigan rolls her eyes and flips a piece of potato out of her bowl with the side of her spoon. Ponka catches it before it hits the ground, then barks with approval as Leliana snickers at them, and Sten paces restlessly along the perimeter of the camp, probably begrudging the time and lost daylight while they eat and plan. She looks back to Alistair, but he's already facing south, his gaze distant.

"Okay," she says quietly. "We'll go." Alistair turns back to her in an instant, searching her face intently. Before she can react, he's closer to her--much closer--and his palms curve over her cheeks as her heartbeat speeds. She can smell his body heat, feel his breath on her skin when he leans in and kisses her fiercely, right in front of everyone.

"Thank you," he says fervently, as though he'd expected her to fight him on it, his eyes so intent, then rises to stride across the camp toward Sten. Finn's cheeks burn and she touches her fingertips to her lips, the warmth of his still lingering. What has happened to her heart? Why does she still feel that hard stab of betrayal? Is it wrong?

Before she can ponder on it too much, Ponka trots up to her and drops her pack at her feet. She looks up again at Alistair as she holds her hand out for Ponka to join her, and he shoves his head into it. Alistair thinks himself too inept to lead, but he doesn't see how he already does. She is with him, but she is only strong because of him. And somehow, that lends _him_ strength, in a way she can't fathom. But if they help each other stand-- Ponka headbutts her in the chest, and she exhales sharply, looking down into his grinning face.

"Is that a vote for 'let's go'?" Ponka trots back and drops into a playful pose before he barks again. Impatiently, he moves ahead, knowing somehow what direction they mean to turn. He is far smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and she tries to keep that in mind. Growing up with halla among them taught her a great deal about the intelligence of animals. Ponka is clearly trying to get her to hurry, and she thinks there might be a reason he's so keen to leave the area. She rolls up and stows the map, shrugs on her pack, then dumps the dregs of her soup into the fire, but keeps her bread.

"We should be quick," she tells everyone, looking at Ponka, then back to the rest of her group. "Ponka is very set on leaving immediately; he might know something we don't."

Suddenly galvanized, the women spring into action. Leliana stuffs a last hunk of bread in her mouth and rinses out the bowls, taking everything to Bodahn, while Morrigan douses the fire with a word. Sten and Alistair are already basically set to go, of course, and it isn't the work of but a minute before all of them follow a very impatient Ponka down the road.

A few miles lie between them and their lunch camp when Ponka stops dead and goes on alert. A moment later, they hear someone coming, chest heaving in apparent fear, and then a woman appears from around the bend ahead. She runs up to them without hesitation.

"They attacked the wagons!" she cries. "Follow me!" 

Finn and Alistair exchange glances. There is a silent conversation where they agree that it can't be darkspawn, because neither of them feel any nearby. Did someone take advantage of this woman, and whoever she might have been with? Or is this an ambush?

They follow.

The people standing around the wagons are far too calm, however, and don't seem to be at all in distress. Alarm immediately courses through her, and Finn begins to back away. She hears a crack above her, and looks up just in time to scramble forward again so she doesn't get crushed by the tree felled to stop their retreat. So. An ambush.

Morrigan raises her staff and begins to trade fire with the woman who baited them here, while Finn narrows her eyes and runs toward the lying mage. With the woman's focus on Morrigan, she tries to circle and come in from behind, but at the last moment, one of the bandits shouts a warning. Finn's eyes widen as the woman wheels on her, far too close for Finn to stop what happens next, as the spell she'd been primed to throw at Morrigan is aimed at Finn instead.

Lighting fills her, makes her scream as she sees white and her entire body seizes at once. The metallic taste of mortality is in her mouth as the air is driven from her by the force of how hard she's slammed to the ground. She's in agony, her bones rattling and teeth grinding, unable to draw a full breath and seeing spots, and then the woman sets her _on fire_. She can't even draw breath to scream as her flesh ignites, the most excruciating thing she's ever experienced. The terrifying blackness overwhelms her frantic and panicked mind, and her last thought is just one desperate internal cry for the man who might still save her.

_Alistair!!_

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

Finn is not moving, and it fills Alistair with fury and fear. He shoves his shield into one of the men attacking Morrigan and beats him down until he hears a crunch, dispensing with the brigand as quickly as possible.

"Get her!" he shouts at Morrigan, his arm stretching out briefly as he points his sword before carrying on to the next target. The man is little match for him, and Alistair takes his legs out from under him before impaling the man through the throat. It's only then that he realises he didn't specify for Morrigan to get Finn or to kill the mage, but Morrigan sneered, so whatever she did, at least there hasn't been another spell cast in his direction. He sees Sten charging up the hill to take on the archers, so he focuses his energy on the foot soldiers, carving a bloody path through them. Their mistake in attacking the wrong group of people. They hadn't come looking for this fight, but he would help see to it that it never happened to anyone else, ever again. Everyone standing between him and Finn dies, mostly at his hands. A few fall away from him with well-placed arrows sunk into them, and he takes just one second in his mind to be grateful for the Chantry sister and her wicked bow, once more.

Alistair drops to his knees, skidding to a halt where Finn lies crumpled on the ground. To one side, he can hear Sten yelling in his native language, and other men's death cries. To the other, Morrigan's fire and lightning crackle in the air, accompanied by the horrified screams of the dying. Somewhere, he can hear Leliana yelling something defiant. Ponka is barking, growling--he has something he's tearing apart, and there is plenty of screaming, so surely some of that is the dog's doing. The rest of this group of bandits is well under control. He can focus on Finn. _Maker, please, if you never answer any other prayer, just please don't let her die on me... Not her too._

"Come on, come on," he mutters, impatient with himself and how long everything is taking, with his bumbling hands. He gathers Finn into his arms and pulls the cork out of a potion with his teeth. The words to his impatience become a chanted prayer for her life when he sees how ghastly she looks, what horrifying things that mage did to her-- "Come on, come on..." Spitting wax on the ground, he tips the bottle carefully to her blistered lips, tilting her head back and to the side so it trickles down her throat. She's barely breathing. She looks a fright. It doesn't seem to have any effect, save for the one place on her lip where a drop fell.

Terror clutches at his heart and he grimaces as he hastily grabs a second potion, more wax, another careful pour, and this time the burns and blisters begin to fade, the swelling goes down. As he nears the end of the bottle, he sees her eyes move under their lids and he laughs, half hysterical. She's all right. She's going to be all right. She coughs weakly as she opens her eyes, and goes utterly still when she sees him. His heart stops for just a second, but there-- there it is again, that beautiful bloom. Maker, does she even know she does that? It's gone in the next moment as she slowly sits up, and while she might be covered in blood, she looks more or less like herself again. and that eases his heart as he helps her to her feet and rises beside her.

"What happened to the bitch who set me on fire?" she asks darkly, then wipes her mouth on her gauntlet. While it's entirely understandable, her language takes him by surprise for a moment, and Morrigan answers first.

"I ate her." Finn looks at Morrigan in surprise, and Morrigan laughs while Alistair rolls his eyes.

"Right... Very reassuring, Morrigan--not creepy at all," he tells her.

"Are you all right?" Leliana asks Finn as she joins them, interrupting his ability to answer Finn's question once more. Finn winces and touches the back of her head gingerly.

"Hmmm... it feels like it should hurt, but it doesn't. Sort of." He worries about that, but he has to believe that everything will be all right. When he turns back, he notices Sten standing over the body of a blond-haired elf, and Alistair nudges Finn with his arm to get her attention, so he can gesture in that direction.

"This one is still alive," Sten comments, when the elf groans at Sten's boot-toe prodding.

"Good. We can find out who sent them," Finn says, and Alistair has to admit, while this is properly terrifying, he sincerely hopes Finn only gets this way sometimes, because he much prefers her the way she is normally. This new Finn is not friendly.

Finn pushes the elf to his back, and puts her foot on his chest, holding him down. He shakes his head, coming 'round, and blinks, squinting to make out her face, with the sun behind her. He looks surprised, then resigned.

"Oh... I rather thought I'd wake up dead," he says, seemingly entirely unperturbed by his predicament, and Finn smiles wolfishly, an expression that reminds Alistair enough of Morrigan to be entirely unsettling.

"Don't worry, there's still time," she promises, and Alistair wonders if maybe Finn hasn't been spending too much time around Morrigan. "Who sent you?"

"Ah... A rather surly fellow. Loghain, I believe it was?" the man responds without even trying to prevaricate, and while this seems like it should be reassuring, it puts Alistair on guard. Why would the man just admit it? Is there someone else after them as well, using Loghain as a convenient excuse? Nothing this "Zevran" person says next puts Alistair at ease. At last Finn steps back and the man sits up. Alistair thinks that will be the end of it, right up to the moment Finn accepts his services, surprising Alistair, even as Leliana apparently accepts that and begins to help the man up.

"What?! We're taking the _assassin_ with us now?!"

Finn surprises him yet again when she whips around and levels a dark look at him. When she puts her hand on his breastplate, he lets her push him back and away a few paces so they can speak more or less quietly.

"Yes, we're taking him with us," she says firmly, baffling him.

"Do you really think that's a good idea? He just tried to kill us!" he protests, and she steps closer, close enough that she has to look up. Her voice is quiet but harder than he's ever heard her be with anyone.

"I am not an executioner," she tells him flatly, and he has to admit, there is something that just feels unsavory about killing a man on the ground asking to be spared, even in battle. She studies his face for a moment, then seems to soften a bit. "Duncan took me from my clan because I would have died from the Taint, otherwise. Do you remember Daveth? He was about to be hanged for pickpocketing, but Duncan saved him and brought him as a recruit. We are the last chance for the hopeless. Duncan taught me that, and everything that has come after has only confirmed it. I stand for mercy. So. Shall we hang all the soldiers who followed Loghain off the field?"

The abrupt change of subject unbalances him and he shakes his head.

"What? No! They were--" Comprehension dawns as he hears himself, and he realises it very much applies to Zevran. "--following orders," he finishes, all the fire gone out of his voice.

"Exactly. If you want to kill him, go ahead, but I think that we're going to be grateful for another pair of blades, where we're going."

He sighs. He doesn't like it, but she has very good points. He still doesn't trust the man, but Zevran _seems_ sincere. He can only wait to see if that will remain the case.

"You're right."

"Thank you." She looks up at the sky, at the sun sinking toward the horizon. "This has eaten more of our day than I care to think about. Let's get out of here, away from the probability of predators, and make camp." She looks at her gauntlet, still covered with her own blood. "And I need a bath. Didn't Bodhan say there was a hot spring around here somewhere? Oh, I could truly use a good soak."

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

The camp is a fair walk, but the day still lingers even after they've set up, and Finn walks beside Alistair on the way up to the spring. The pool is wide and clear, with a shelf that allows some of the water to cool off a bit under the open sky, making it the ideal place for a warm bath. Finn begins to unbuckle her armour, but soon notices that Alistair is just standing guard.

"You aren't going to join me?" It takes a moment before he responds, and she remains motionless, an uneasy feeling slithering into her stomach.

"Er... I... didn't... Er... You... want me to?" he finally manages, sounding a bit strained and she pauses, herself. This will mean more than just getting clean, she realises, and draws a slow breath as her heart thuds heavily. Does she? _Does she?_

She can't imagine herself with no one to watch her back here. She knows she could also trust Leliana, but she trusts Alistair more. She can't imagine leaving his side anymore. She's almost always with him already. She even sleeps at his side, curled against him tightly, or tucked securely under his arm. All of these thoughts flit through her mind in the moment it takes her to draw that breath.

"Yes." She hadn't really been sure what she was going to say until she said it, and a shiver raises all the hair on her skin. Is this a betrayal? The look in his eyes steals her breath, even as he turns red and laughs, looking away self-consciously for a moment. But he looks back at her again, he does, and that-- _That_ look has her own face flaming hotly. "Please." That doesn't make it better. Anxiety twists in her stomach and she swallows, tries to act like everything is fine, gesturing at the pool. Just tell the truth. "I don't want to be alone." That sounds awful. Impulsively, she reaches out and takes his hand, then freezes, terrified of her own daring.

His fingers curl around hers as he looks at her, his expression sliding into seriousness. After a moment, he nods.

"Of course," he murmurs, and his fingers leave hers as he takes a pace backwards. "I'll just... be over here. Not looking." He turns his back to her before he unstraps his sword and lays aside his shield. She's not sure how she feels about him wanting to turn away, but it's already intimidating enough to make her hands shake. She's done this before--the clan tends to go to the river in groups so that there are plenty of people to help defend if there's a problem. Nudity isn't the same as nakedness, however, and that's what this is.

She takes a breath and turns away from him, as well. She hears his buckles and straps over the sound of her own: clicking latches and clinking metal, slithering leather and shifting pads. The scorched tatters of underpadding come away fairly easily, but the clothing she wears underneath is also affected, and she's not exactly in the best condition she's ever been in. The healing potions she took didn't fix everything, and it didn't stop her clothing from adhering to her skin in highly unpleasant ways that are extremely painful to remedy now.

"What's wrong?" Alistair's voice behind her, worried, and over her. "You sound like you're hurt." Caught hissing at it, she pauses, swallows. She was even still for her Vallaslin, and she hisses at _this_. She's going to need help.

"The potions trapped burnt cloth under scabs," she says, wincing again. "I-- I need help." A moment later, she feels Alistair's hands curve over her shoulders.

"It's happened to me before. Don't pull at it. It'll be easier to take off after you've been in the water for awhile. Come on." His voice is mellow and quiet, something different in it this time that has her stomach filling with birds, but she lets him steer her into the water, to support her as she climbs in stiffly, now that rawness is exposed and stinging with the lash of the air. The hot water isn't better; the heat feels excruciating on her burns, a shock to her system that is difficult to manage, that has her breath stuttering and hands shaking.

Alistair is right behind her all the way, one hand at her waist, the other gripping hers, making sure she doesn't falter. She grits her teeth on the scream that wants to erupt from her lips, her fingers curling tightly around Alistair's as she walks forward with him, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she sinks lower into the water. The pain doesn't abate, even as the water reaches her shoulders, and she finds herself baring her teeth as tears leak from the corners of her eyes. It _burns_ , all over again. She will never forget the terror of that moment, suffocating, burning, rigid and seizing--

She gasps and turns toward Alistair instinctively, eyes wide with the terror singing in her blood. He's still steady, still just beside her, but an eyebrow rises.

"All right?"

"I-- It was-- I couldn't breathe, and-- I-- I was dying--" And she remembers her last thought.

It wasn't Tamlen.

Alistair's palm curves over her cheek, serious as she's ever seen him.

"I couldn't let that happen." He sounds so certain that somehow she believes him.

"Everything hurts," she admits, and his eyes crumple at the corners a bit before he leans in to kiss her. His lips are soft, warm... slowly intoxicating as the birds' wingbeats begin to match her heart. Her hands rise automatically, landing on his stomach. His...  _bare_... stomach... She can't help but sway toward him with a shiver, her fingers flexing against his skin and-- Creators, how  _strong_ he is--

It ends far too soon, and her breath is still shaking, but now for an entirely different reason as she finds herself looking up into his darkened gaze. She sees a summer forest in his eyes, all golds, greens, and pale brown. "Maybe not everything," she says, her voice almost a whisper, and he smiles.

"I was hoping you might feel that way," he says lightly, but his careless tone doesn't match the look in his eyes. "Are you ready to try to peel off the scraps?" When she nods, his expression becomes more serious once more, and he moves back a bit to give them space to work. "All right, give me your hand."

Slowly, he peels away one piece of ragged cloth after another, tearing scabbing and half formed scars in the process, but though she bleeds for it, it's better not to let it heal into her skin, of course... so she lets him. One excruciating scrap at a time. The arms, her back--those are easy. peeling it away from her front, and her legs... that's different. His hands are so gentle as he helps her, his fingers smoothing over angry flesh beside the wounds, encouraging her skin to release the pain. It helps a little bit, but not as much as him just being beside her does. His solid steadiness keeps her grounded, and when everything is gone and the last thread is pulled from her skin, he kisses the top of her head. It feels like a blessing, and she closes her eyes, relieved.

"Thank you. I'm lucky you were here; doing this on my own would have been much, much worse." She exhales, relaxing, and looks up at him with a smile. Whatever he sees in her face, his eyes darken again and he kisses her once more. This time, there's far more heat, but he turns her loose sooner.

"You're welcome." He smiles at her, and it makes her heart skip again, makes her face flame hotly, especially with the memory of his lips still tingling on her own. "I think we should get back to camp soon, so we can put some poultices on those burns," he says, and she nods again.

It doesn't take them long to actually take care of the business they arrived for in the first place. Finn's burns don't feel any less painful, the longer she stays in the water, and when there's soap in it, it burns more acutely. So she rinses her hair as quickly as possible and gets out, forgetting about her nudity in the moment of just wanting to not be in the water anymore. It hurt too much. But the air isn't much better, and she grimaces as she slithers into a loose blue dress she picked up in Lothering.

The armour would have to wait, but they gathered it up to carry back; better to have it bloody and nearby, if something happens. Besides, also better to wash it after the others have had a chance to bathe. Half-way between the pool and camp, Alistair catches her hand.

"Finn, I want to talk to you about this afternoon," he says, and she turns to look at him, worried now.

"Uh... yes?"

"It scares me, how trusting you can be. That Crow was sent to kill us, and now he's sitting in our camp. If he wanted a second opportunity, he's got it." Her stomach  twists, and after a moment, she nods.

"I understand... I just... I didn't see any other way," she says uncomfortably, then tries for a light tone. "Besides, what have I to worry about, truly, when--" Alistair stands tall in the last amber rays of the setting sun, and she stops, stunned, just for a moment, losing the thought as how handsome he is impacts her with force. A flicker of the depths of her fear and uncertainty over the way he makes her feel rises in her and she swallows, her gaze darting away. "You'll watch my back, won't you?"

"Of course." He looks at his boots, then back at her. Behind the way he sees her glints the naked steel of a warrior, the hard discipline of knighthood, a glimpse of the deadly she forgets is there when he's laughing. "Will you forgive me, when I do?" Whatever she was going to say falters and dies on her lips when she sees that swirl of darkness in his eyes, her mouth going dry. Tongue-tied, at last, she just nods. If she tries to speak now, she's going to stutter, but she's beginning to think she might forgive him just about anything.

Alistair takes a breath to speak, but at that moment, they hear a shriek from the camp, and both their heads turn quickly. Before they've taken two steps, Ponka comes barrelling up the path toward them for all he's worth, a pack clamped tightly in his jaws. Alistair and Finn look at each other, then back down the path as Morrigan fumes past, grumbling and growling under her breath.

Finn covers her mouth and bows her head as Morrigan passes, not wanting the woman to see her laughing. After Morrigan passes, she calls out to her Mabari friend.

"Ponka! Give it back!" She snickers behind her hand, sniffing softly, humour lighting her face when she looks up at Alistair next, and she sees the same thing there. The flock of birds in her stomach is back and she draws a slow breath. "Let's get back to camp. I'm starved, and I heard Leliana talking about making stew." Alistair's knowing smirk puts her in mind of the first day she met him.

"Appealing to my stomach, is it?" Maybe he noticed the change in topic. She pauses, then shrugs awkwardly.

"My own, mostly, but-- I wasn't trying to dodge your question." She looks up at him pensively, takes another breath. "Yes, I will. Who can we trust, if not each other?" Something in his face changes, something she can't read, but the way he looks at her is more intent and carries more weight, even as he smiles. Oh, that's a dangerous look.

And there, in the back of her mind, that little voice whispers again.

_Alistair._


	5. Scars Flown Proud

**.:Interlude:.**  
Dream of the Archer

"Watch your head," Tamlen warns, pulling her through a particularly dense copse of bracken and overhanging tree limbs.

"Where are we going? This path even mice would fear to tread," Finnariel protests. She can hear his quiet laugh just in front of her.

"We're nearly there. Watch your feet! Four steps, straight up. Here, put your hands on my shoulders," he says, and she feels the warmth of them under her palms in the next moment. How strong, her beloved archer. She follows carefully, trusting in him utterly, and tests each step with her toe until he comes to a halt. She can't resist drawing closer, and she rests her head in the hollow between his shoulder blades, presses herself to his back, hugging him. Her arms cross over his chest, and in the next moment his hand curves over hers. She can hear his heart beat, how it speeds. He pulls one of her hands upward and kisses her fingertips, then shifts it back to his shoulder.

"Just a little farther, _lethallan,"_ he murmurs. Keeping her hand in his, he leads her forward. She knows when they leave the trees by the sudden wind on her face, and she can hear much more clearly the babbling rill, how it bubbles and sings as it cascades over stones. Now that she's here, she can also hear the soft wash of the little creek beneath it as it hushes past the stones and sand nearby, and the quiet drumming of the water on some wood, no doubt a fallen branch. The music of it is captivating.

"Give me your boots," Tamlen says, breaking into her thoughts, and she is utterly confused.

"What?" He laughs again, his hand curving over her hip. "We're going into the water. Don't you trust me, _vhenan?"_ She covers his hand with hers then follows his arm until she can brace herself on his shoulders. He held her for her _vallaslin,_ and because of his unflinching gaze, she was able to find the strength to weather her trial in silence. Who could she ever trust more?                    

"I trust you the most." She lets him tug them off without protest, finding soft moss beneath her feet. Since she doesn't need both hands to be steady, one does wander a bit, up his neck and into the hair at the back of his head. He rolls up the legs of her pants over her knees, and she feels a breeze on her bare legs. She smiles, but then he leaves her hands entirely. She reaches out, suddenly and irrationally frightened.

"Tamlen?"

"Down here. _Trust_ in me, _vhenan._ I'm just taking off my boots. Surely you know I wouldn't abandon you," he chides gently, but his fingers brush her ankle in reassurance. In a few moments, he takes her hand again, and she curls her fingers tightly around his as the fear in her heart vanishes, just from that simple thing. He leads her forward again, across wet stones, then into water that rises with every step. They wade out until it's just above her knee, the swiftly flowing brook from the rill she can hear somewhere nearby, to her left. Once he stops her, he hooks her ankle with his own and pulls her foot forward until it rests upon a high step.

"Up," he directs, "and then five steps." He grabs her other hand to steady her as she rises out of the water, and soon they're both standing on smooth stone. She climbs the steps hand-in-hand with Tamlen, and then forward a few paces before he turns her by the shoulders. She feels him behind her now, and she wants powerfully for him to do certain things _right now_ , but of course that's not what happens. Tamlen's fingers tug free the knot at the back of her head, then his hands drop to caress her shoulders as the blindfold falls away.

"Open your eyes, _lethallan_ ," he whispers in her ear. She shivers, half turning toward him, and he laughs. "Look."

When Finnariel opens her eyes, the beauty spread out before her takes her breath away. They stand upon the remains of an ancient, white stone archway. A small waterfall burbles behind them, the water flowing around the base of the stones, reaching westward. The forest sweeps out to either side, as though to embrace the setting sun, the fading light painting the world in shades of orange, fuchsia, orchid and indigo. The brightest of the stars have begun to light the vault of the sky above them. Tamlen presses against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist, and she leans her head back on his shoulder.

"Oh," she breathes, and for a moment, she's so stunned it's all she can say. "It-- It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Thank you for bringing me here. How did you find this place?"

"Following deer." She can hear the smile in his voice, and the warmth of it seeps into her bones as she settles against him. They stand there in silence for long moments, watching the sun go down and the stars come out. As the last of the indigo descends on the horizon, he speaks again.

"I spoke to Ashalle and the Keeper," he murmurs, and her heartbeat speeds, flies into her throat.

"And?" She tries to sound normal, but her voice wobbles, betraying her, and he exhales shortly, the shadow of a laugh.

"What do you _think?"_ he asks, then presses his lips to the soft spot beneath her ear. She shivers and tilts her head to the side, her breath catching as it always does, and her eyes slip closed. His fingers twine with hers as his free hand slides up her side and across her shoulder, sending a tingling rush over her skin that sets free a flock of birds in her chest.

_They said yes._

She turns and kisses him ardently, and he pulls her into his embrace more fully, tangling his hand in her hair. She can feel every line of him as his tongue sweeps into her mouth, closer than they've ever dared. Their thighs press together, his hip directly against her in an incredibly intimate way, even as she feels the weight of his desire settle into the hollow of her own. His stomach flexes against hers, trembling as much as her own. Her hands shake as they glide up his back, grip his shoulders tightly. Her heart races, and she can feel his wild against her breast. Her senses are filled and overwhelmed with the scent of him mingled with the water, the green, sun-warmed flowers cooling in the twilight. The moment is as intoxicating as he is, and it goes on and on, making her head spin.

 _Tamlen..._ her mind whispers with heavy desire like she's never felt. At last she turns her face aside, gasping, and lays her head on his shoulder, burrowing her face into the side of his neck. She shakes with emotion as he enfolds her more gently in his arms, his head bowing over hers as he nuzzles at her.

"So, you approve of their decision?" he asks, his lips moving against the top of her head, and she laughs.

"How long do I have to wait?"

 _"We, vhenan._ And: a phase."

"So long?" She can feel his lips curve against her cheek.

"I hear Ashalle told the Keeper there was no reason for us to wait out a full cycle. She argued that one month more or less will make no difference to us," he says casually, and she has to admit he's right. Everyone has known about them for years. Mostly everyone but her, apparently.

"That's not what she said," Finnariel accuses, a knowing smile upon her lips.

"No." He laughs again. "I heard Ashalle yelled at her and said we weren't a couple of 'bumbling blushers'." He pauses a beat. "Well... _I'm_ not." She feels the heat rising to her face even as she giggles.

"Well-- You-- You've known longer than I have," she admits. "I thought you couldn't possibly look at me."

"Yes, but I've always been able to see that you feel it, and just as long as I have." He kisses her again, impossibly even more passionate than before. His hands slide up under her shirt, palms against her skin leaving hot trails up and down her back, sliding over her sides, his fingers thrumming over the edges of her breeches. "Caught you," he whispers darkly against her lips when he comes up for air. The tone makes her stomach quiver, and she suddenly wants very much to find out what that's going to mean. As she draws breath, her breasts crush to his chest, and her head spins with intoxication. The scented breeze blows over them again as she sways closer, her leg wrapping around his. For the first time, his hand nears the side of her breast and--

Finn sits bolt upright, a strangled cry of anguish escaping her lips.

"No--!" she whimpers brokenly, her voice dropping to a tearful whisper. "I was just there. I was just there." She drops her outstretched arm; there's nothing she can reach, not anymore. She's alone in the tent; Alistair must have gone somewhere, but the thought grips her with more terror. She pulls her knees up, puts her head down, and shakes with silent tears. _You shem are like vermin,_ Tamlen had said, that last day. And the first thing she can think of after waking up from a dream about Tamlen is finding _Alistair._ This _is_ a betrayal. He would be so angry with her. Not for surviving, not for joining, not for fighting alongside them to end the Blight that threatens everything they ever knew. No. For all of this, he would be _proud_. But Alistair...? Would Tamlen forgive her, if he understood all the darkness and despair she's known since she lost him? Would he forgive her, if he could see how these people, this one shem-- _human,_ had saved her life so many times over?

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

Ponka raises his head when Finn sits up. The sniffling sound means she is sad. She is sad a lot of the time. She needs love. That's good, because he can help. A Good Dog can give love. He pushes his head under her extra bendy top legs, and she falls sideways, wrapping them around his neck. She whispers her sadness into his back, and he realizes this is about her old mate from before again, when he hears that one name that doesn't match any of the others with them: Tamlen.

Even though he was sick, he could smell a second elf on her when she first came to Ostagar. He listened to her, and learned that the male scent was her mate, and that he was dead. She is always sad about it. He can see that everyone worries about her. He wants to Do Good and help her.

He can smell that she wants to mate with Alistair, and that Alistair wants to mate with her. He doesn't understand why they don't, because it makes them both sad that they don't. People Mating is too complicated. He didn't think people mated for life, but maybe some of them do. Maybe Finn did, but even he knows it's no good to be sad over a lost mate forever. How can he be a Good Dog and help her?

He looks at Alistair through the crack in the tent flaps. He's sitting by the fire, watching the night. He can tell that Alistair wants to help, too. He whines a few times, and after a moment Alistair rises to come find out what's happening. When he looks inside, he finds them, and Alistair touches Finn's shoulder. She flinches away, but Ponka pushes her over again. She's like a puppy, almost. Sometimes they have to be pushed where they need to go.

Alistair pets her fur a little, and Ponka gives her another push, nearly tipping her on top of Alistair. Alistair puts his arm around her, and she lets him. This is Good, Ponka decides, because she doesn't always. He scoots over more, and Finn has to move over too, so now she is between them, and he can feel Alistair's arm on his back. Then an Amazing Thing happens, and Finn lets Alistair hug her. When she stops hugging Ponka and turns to Alistair, Ponka knows he has been a Good Dog, and he is happy.

Maybe they will mate and have puppies. That would be a Good Thing. He likes puppies.

 

 **.:5:.**  
Scars Flown Proud

Alistair's legs ache with fatigue. His back screams for rest, his shoulders and arms went numb long ago. The burned, jagged end of the heavy piece of wood he drags behind him scores a path through the dirty snow and carves a black line into the earth beneath. His face is smudged with dirt and charcoal, a grim mask over shock-numb eyes. Sten silently lifts the other end and they heave it onto the stack.

It's still not big enough.

Wearily, he pauses for a moment, looking at the people working beside him, then up at the shattered ramparts and battlements. How many wars were fought here? How soaked was this ground? And now there weren't even any bodies for families to find, to mourn. Only barren ground and eerie silence. Finn and Leliana stagger up with bundles of sticks. Zevran follows behind with a heavy load of small branches on his back. Morrigan sits upon a fallen piece of stone, away from the silent activity, reading a book. Of all of them, she is the only one not in desperate need of a bath, not hollow-eyed with grief, not aching with exhaustion. At the moment, he envies her bitterly--a feeling that makes his skin crawl--and hates her in equal measure--and _that_ is an emotion so familiar it's almost comforting. It seems like it's the first thing he's felt in hours, and it only flickers before it's buried under the grief again. He turns away and trudges back to the shattered forest.

The darkened sky is pregnant with the threat of endless blizzard, but the friends toil on, despite the frigid wind that cuts at their dirty faces and torn hands. A brilliant shaft of sunlight pierces the grey as the sun sinks below the level of the clouds, and the scene is bathed in late-autumn gold as they finish stuffing the last of the tinder and sticks into the pile. After hours of work, at last, the pyre is ready to receive the body.

Alistair, insistent from the start that he be the only one to touch it, carries his brother, his burden, for the last time. After all the crushingly heavy wood he brought here, the man's remains seem almost ephemeral. It's not the first time he's wondered what it would have been like for them to grow up together, but it's too late now for them to even know each other. Too late for everything.

As he stands back, Morrigan rises, and he hates her just a little bit less for her help in this one instance. She walks toward the end of the pyre, then straightens her arms, and as her fingers splay, the tinder beneath bursts into hot, white flame. She circles it, casting the same spell again a few moments later at the other end, then walks away, back toward camp. That's fine. She doesn't have to watch; this isn't for her anyway.

As the flames rise, he can feel himself just standing there like a stone. In his mind, where all his thoughts usually crowd in one upon the next, there is nothing but a hollow, ringing silence, just like the valley itself. Everything is cold. Sten solemnly intones verse in his native tongue. He doesn't find any comfort in it, but he does appreciate the gesture, and respects it.

Long moments pass, timeless as he exists in his numbness. He's not sure how long she's been beside him, but eventually the warmth of Finn under his arm breaks through his fog and he looks down at her, seeing that he had automatically put his arm around her. Gradually, his mind begins to stir, like wakening stone, until suddenly the weight of it is far, far too much and he crumples toward her, clutching her waist as he bows his head to her shoulder. He tries so hard to remain still, to not break into any further emotional display, and it takes all his willpower when she straightens in response and throws her arms around his neck.

Leliana's voice rises above the roar of the flame, a lament in another language spiralling upward with the ashes. Zevran stands respectfully to the side, head bowed.

The pyre burns for hours; everyone but Alistair leaves before the first closes--everyone except Finn.

It's fully dark when Finn stirs beside him, and the pyre has burned down by over half. It's still a grim sight, and he can't bring himself to truly see it, rather seeing almost _through_ it, even still. Her small hand rests on his cheek, turns his face until he's looking at her instead.

"Let's go back to camp. There's nothing here to catch alight that isn't already burning. It's safe to walk away," she tells him, a weight of seriousness in her eyes that implies she means more than what she says, but it's lost on him just now. She's too clever for him. He nods and immediately regrets it as he realises that the hours of hard work, followed by hours of just _standing_ , has done no favours to his shoulders and neck. Finn doesn't seem to notice, and she takes his hand before she turns to walk away.

Their little camp looks pitiful and ragged, perched on the shattered edge of Ostagar in the lee of a cliff. He and Finn had agreed that morning as they hastily erected it and moved on: neither of them could bear the thought of trying to camp among the ruins of all that had been lost on that terrible night. Maker knows what they might unwittingly be sleeping directly _on top of._

Their own shelter was built right against the stone wall, all their furs against the floor and wall to protect them from the chill. The sides are pulled back and they both drop onto the mat, facing the fire. It might not be the most comfortable place to rest, but to him, at the moment, it feels like sitting on a cloud. For once, he thinks he feels what it might be like behind Finn’s familiar time-unwinding gaze.

Everyone is silent. By some unspoken accord, Leliana and Zevran sit side-by-side cooking, trading herbs and spices back and forth while Sten and Morrigan keep watch. Ponka stirs from his place by the fire after a time and brings all that warmth he soaked up into the shelter with him, settling beside Finn and radiating on them both.

His simple presence is enough to stir Finn, and she blinks. After a moment, she looks at her hands as though seeing them for the first time, and pauses. They’re both filthy with soot, tree sap, dirt, and blood. They can’t eat like this, and they both need to. After a moment, she rises, and he follows her. Ponka’s protest turns into a grumble as he curls up on their furs and puts his head down. Alistair has to admit he’s glad the hound will keep things warm for them. He feels like the cold may never fully leave his bones.

Finn gathers some snow into the warm bucket by the fire and carries it to the edge of camp. When Alistair sees what she’s about, he fetches their soap, as well, and follows her. Despite the relative warmth, washing their hands and faces in the snow-ready air quickly chills them, and they hustle back to the fire. He’s certain he’ll begin to grow icicles from his eyelashes at any moment.

They huddle together with Ponka until they both stop shivering. The smell of roasting fish is thick and rich in the air, and he has to admit, as much as he worries about Zevran, with Leliana to watch over him, Alistair is grateful for the man’s cooking skill.

After a time, Finn drags her pack closer and tugs at the heavy bundle on the back of it. He knows exactly what’s inside.

"Remember when..." she begins, and hesitates, looking at him. The wounded look in her eyes echoes the jagged edges of the wounds he’s sustained to his heart today. "Just after we left Flemeth's hut... and we talked about... this night?" She waves a hand in the direction of Ostagar, and he nods. Her voice is low, hushed. It seems like she can barely bring herself to speak of it, and he understands the feeling.

"You said... You told me that you just wished you could have had something of his. So, I... Here. We should keep these, and try to... make him proud." She lays the clanking bundle across their laps and unwraps the ragged cloth she’d hastily wound around the blades to bring them here.

Alistair grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut, then turns his face aside, pushing his finger and thumb against his eyes. He can’t do any more crying today. He already feels unforgivably weak. The warmth of Finn’s palm curves against the side of his neck and the edge of his jaw, and he looks back at her, feeling so lost for a moment. All the faces of the people he had known, his _friends_ , all the Wardens who had welcomed him-- _Duncan--_ He leans in and kisses her forehead fiercely. He wishes he could show her what she missed. After a shaking breath, he clears his throat and looks back at her.

"Thank you," he whispers. He’s been used to nobody listening to him, his whole life. And now... Finn. She pays attention to everything he says, and it amazes him every time. It’s something he cherishes about her.

The weight of Duncan’s sword is heavy in his hand, despite how light the weapon is. It’s strong, sharp... He will try to do it justice. They help each other out of their armour and huddle up under the furs together, then sit there watching the fire, heads bent together, clutching the tools of the man who made them family. Ponka lies wrapped around Finn's hip, his head resting on her feet.

Warmth and complete exhaustion conspire against him, and the next thing he knows, Leliana is nudging him.

"It is third watch, Alistair. I’m going to sleep now. Are you ready for watch?" At his nod, she hands him a large scrap of leather. A large chunk of bread--enough for both of them--sits atop two roasted fish; two handfuls of dried berries; a pile of walnuts; some hard, white cheese; a couple of roasted potatoes and several large mushrooms. It seems like a feast, but he knows it will barely be enough to fuel their Warden bellies, and he longs for the beautiful, hot meat pies he could get from Bella at Lloyd’s. Finn stirs at his side as he rubs his eyes blearily.

"Fish?" she asks, making him smile. The first thing she says when she wakes; his Dalish woman. How he adores her.

The order of this night becomes the pattern, then the routine, then the habit, during the weeks it takes them to get to Redcliffe. On the last night, as they sit third watch, Alistair sits next to Finn, idly peeling the bark off of a stick, fretting about her heritage and whether or not he respects her properly. Being among the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest gave him a lot to think about, and presented him with a perspective he never considered before. It’s not as though he didn’t respect them before--he never looked down on elves the way so many other people do--but he hadn’t known how ignorant he was, and how condescending some of his ideas were.

Thinking about her heritage inevitably makes him think of his own, and that’s a topic he’s been trying so hard to avoid. It can’t be, though. He can’t be keeping secrets, not from her.

"Finn... Er... Listen. There's something I need to tell you... Something I probably should have told you earlier..." Finn listens to him patiently as he tells her where he truly comes from, and to his amazement, she doesn’t flinch from it.

"I think I understand why you were afraid to tell me," she says, instead. He can’t believe how accepting she is, when no one else has ever been. He can’t believe his fortune, that anyone would be so tolerant of him, let alone a woman like her, and he apologizes again and again, afraid of spoiling something so precious. But she reassures him, again and again, and finally kisses him gently, briefly, before drawing back to look him in the eyes, effectively stopping his tongue and the endless round of self-doubt and worry.

"You can’t possibly be heir to the throne, no matter who your father might have been, because you’re a Warden now," she says reasonably, firmly. "Duncan said we leave that behind," she reminds him, and it’s true. He was there. How could he have forgotten? "No titles, no other oaths," she says, and he nods, feeling his resolve firming again. "We're Wardens, and there's no going back on that, no retiring, no changing positions." He nods again, feeling far more at ease as the burden of fear and worry falls from his back. She hasn’t rejected him. They will stand together. He can’t even begin to articulate what comfort that certainty brings him. "We'll brace for the flood when the waters rise, all right? First, we see Eamon."

"This doesn't change the way you see me?" He has to ask, even though it seems like the answer will be no. He has to hear her say it, and then he can believe it. Maybe he can even forgive himself.

"I see you, Alistair: powerful soldier, proud Grey Warden, fortunate survivor of Ostagar, and somehow by the grace of the Creators, my tireless protector," she says quietly, very serious about it, and it makes his stomach shake that she has such a view of him. "Who you might have been as a political pawn was eclipsed by the vow we took at the Joining, and your actions as an honorable knight. The fact of your bloodline does not make the man I have come to know a lie. It makes you even more remarkable because it didn’t stop you from becoming kind and honest."

He can hardly believe it, and finds himself smiling, almost embarrassed, and he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. She laughs when he can’t think of anything clever to say and bumps her shoulder playfully against his. He wraps his arm around her waist and enjoys the moment of warmth and quiet as Ponka rolls over and kicks in his sleep and the fire pops and crackles. The sleeping breath of their companions is a barely audible whisper in the stillness of the hours before dawn, and this too is a comfort that means a temporary respite. Peace, for however long it lasts. He savors the moments.

His mind strays to heritage again, and he finds himself fretting once more on whether he’s properly respecting her. She doesn’t complain, but she isn’t the type to do so. In the end he decides he’ll never find out if he doesn’t try, if he doesn’t ask.

"Finn... Why won't you let me use your Elvish name? Do I pronounce it wrong?" he practically blurts, then feels the heat rise to his face, embarrassed by his forwardness, but hopefully... at least by now... she won’t take offence.

She doesn't reply, at first, making him nervous as she picks up a stick and pokes at the fire, stares off into the night. At last, she takes a breath, and he practically holds his own.

"No... It's not that." She rises and his worry spikes, but she only fetches her pack before returning to him. She pulls out a battered, leather-bound book and looks at the cover for a long while, her eyes going far away. He knows that look; she’ll return to him shortly, but in the meantime, Alistair studies the intricate patterns inscribed on its surface. Just as he knew she would, she soon shakes herself, and looks at him.

"I've never shared this with anyone," she says, nervousness obvious in her tone, and he gives her a level look, hoping she sees that he takes her seriously. "I know I don’t have to, but it's fair, and you should know." She swallows and hesitates just one more moment before she opens the book and flips through the pages.

He sees drawings of the people she knew and the places she had been, tattoo designs and portraits of family, pressed plants and botanical drawings, notes, poetry, stories. Through it all, drawings and sketches of one man appear again and again, different moments of him caught smiling, dreaming, restless, laughing, mischievous, concentrating. The torrent of creativity cuts off abruptly, two-thirds of the way through the book. On the last marked page, two locks of hair are twisted together in one short plait, one butter yellow, the other chestnut brown. It weaves between hasty, excited scribblings about a night upon an archway, an unfinished sketch of the scene and the stones they had stood upon, her hopes and plans for a future that would never be.

"Tamlen--" she starts, but she chokes on his name and squeezes her eyes shut. He can’t help his instant reaction, his hand splaying between her shoulders as though to brace her. "The mirror," she says next, her voice a harsh whisper. Finally she takes a shaking breath, and looks at him. "There’s a story I need to tell you, too." Haltingly, she recounts how, exactly, she came to meet Duncan and arrive at Ostagar to become a Grey Warden. When she finally stumbles to a halt, Alistair’s heart has broken for her, and he finally understands.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

"Your nightmares," Alistair murmurs, and Finn nods, wiping the tears from her face with the corner of her cloak. She lets him hold her for a moment; what would it matter, now, at the edge of world's end? Surely she deserves to find some solace... doesn't she?

"Is this what you were talking about, to those kids, in the camp?" he asks, and her stomach twists. No matter which way she turns, she feels like a betrayer, and yet all she wants is to be next to Alistair. "You were 'bonded', you said. To him? Is that like a marriage?" he asks, damning her, and she feels the tears tumble down her cheeks as she traitorously leans closer into his side.

"Yes, it is. But... it's more than that, as well. It's very serious, an oath that cannot be abandoned, even if one of you dies. You only bond once." She swallows again. "Never twice," she whispers. She remembers Tamlen’s eyes, steady to hers, as he held her shoulders, his forearms resting to either side of her face to keep her head still as the ink was laid into her skin. She remembers the feel of him pressed so tightly against her, that one and only night. She remembers the feel of his hair between her fingers, and how it felt to run beside him chasing deer. She remembers his whisper in her ear, asking her if he could join her fire, telling her he loved her. She remembers his laughter, his smile, his hand curled around hers with his strong fingers. Tears flow down her cheeks and she bows her head, her shoulders shaking on a sob she swallows forcibly.

"So... You... You're married?" Alistair asks cautiously, and she shivers, finally shakes her head.

"No. No, we never-- We never actually did the ceremony. It was three days away when we went down into that ruin, and..." She closes her eyes, draws a long, slow breath. "But the mirror stole him away from me." It takes her a moment to brace herself, but she looks back up at Alistair, her gaze direct despite the tears. "I was, but... we never actually took the oaths, so... No. Technically, I’m not." She turns aside again, her gaze dropping to the book, then turns the page, showing two blank pages.

"This, right here, this is why you call me 'Finn'." She smooths her hands over the creamy paper, the dividing line between her life before and her life as a Warden. She left those blank before she continued, because she had _felt_ so blank during that time. "This is where 'Finnariel' died: in front of a tainted mirror, in the dark of a Tevinter ruin, next to the man who was supposed to become her husband." Gently, she closes the book and tucks it back into her pack. It takes her a moment to raise her gaze back to his, but she has to look him in the eyes. His shifting hazle, sometimes green, sometimes brown, now gold with the flicker of the fire. "I couldn’t be here now, with you, if she’d survived. So I’m ‘Finn’ now, and-- and that’s who I want to stay. It’s hard to hold onto sometimes, but you keep me present. You remind me, because you _don’t_ use that name." Sympathy crumples the corners of his eyes and he holds his arm out for her to curl beside him. She slips under it, resting her head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm and half his cloak around her, then kisses the top of her head. After a time, he sighs.

"It’s a night for secrets," he murmurs, and she nods. The shiver that shakes her stomach has nothing to do with cold.

"I'm tired of secrets, and all the pain they carry," she admits, and Alistair nods.

"Then how about this," he begins, a few moments later. "We'll agree that, between us, there won't be any more secrets." He waves a hand through the air, as though to erase chalk from a wall. "We'll tell each other everything," he suggests, and she pauses.

"Everything?" she asks, thinking about what that might mean, how difficult that might become.

"Er... Well, that is the point, yes," he says, looking at her doubtfully. Why would she argue with that? Does she mean to lie to him? What would she be afraid to tell him? It seems like the worst of her secrets are already known to him, and he hasn’t left her. At last, she nods.

"All right. Everything," she agrees quietly, then sits up and regards him seriously. The light of dawn creeps across the sky, and she glances up at it. "The sun rises. Third watch is over," she says regretfully, then stands. "We reach your homeland today; now is my turn to meet your people." She looks around the camp, suddenly fretting about how long everything is taking, how fast the darkspawn horde might be able to move. How few are their days numbered? "Time is running faster than we can keep up."


	6. When Tomorrow Comes

Nobody is prepared for the reality of the situation that greets them in Redcliffe. The villagers tell of fallen kinsmen not properly put to pyre returning to terrorize the very town they defended the night before. Fear permeates the air, begins to thread its way into her and the rest of her group, as well. She looks around and sees the same faces: her clan, Ostagar, Lothering, Zathrien's clan, and now here. Every face bears the same expression of resignation, exhaustion, fear, every child's eyes dull with horror.  
  
Finn watches Alistair as he moves through the town that was his home and sees the expressions crossing his face, as well. There, she sees the same fear, but she also sees determination. As they speak with Teagan, she feels the stones piling on their backs again. Alistair shrugs, an subconscious gesture of settling his armour that tells her he's already set his mind to the task, and she shivers. The dead walking is magic of the darkest, foulest kind. It's an affront to the natural order, and always a sign of evil. But Alistair helped her save her people, so now she will help him save his.  
  
One at a time, they speak to the townsfolk and muster them for the fight. Finn manages to talk the weaponsmith into going back to work by commiserating and offering him some of her own whiskey, and Alistair faces down a surly dwarf and his companions with witty logic that makes them feel cowardly and small to the point that they practically demand to be allowed to take part.  
  
The group carefully scour all the abandoned shops and houses for supplies, spreading out to cover as much ground as possible. By accord, everything is brought to the Chantry except for food, which is sent up to the inn. A child is found and flushed out of hiding, sent back to the Chantry to gather with the other residents. It's not safe for anyone to be alone.  
  
At the inn, Leliana flirts with Bella to determine just exactly how much food and drink is left in the town's larder, especially now that the group has gathered up everything abandoned. While Alistair talks to the barkeep and tries to explain the importance of actually defending one's own home, Zevran alerts Finn to the existence of a spy in the corner.  
  
"What?" she asks, firmly not looking at the man now that Zevran has mentioned him. "How can you be sure?"  
  
"One does not survive long in my line of work without learning a few telling markers," he explains, gesturing gracefully. Finn waits, but he just smiles enigmatically and her impatience flares.  
  
"Well? Like what?" she demands, but he only makes her wait expectantly another moment before he caves.  
  
"He is not very good at his job. He began sweating the moment we entered and is attempting to evade our notice. Rather telling, yes? That means that the poor man is out of his element, as whomever sent him didn't determine whether he would fit in where he was being sent. So either someone didn't care about the job, or someone who is not used to hiring spies paid for him," he says mildly, and Finn finds herself agreeing, nodding thoughtfully. When Alistair returns to her side, she bumps his arm with her own and nods toward the corner.  
  
"We've got a spy," she murmurs, then turns around and heads for the man directly. "Hi. Your bow would be useful in the fight to save this town; you should come down and help us defend the village tonight."  
  
"Why? I'm not from here," he sneers, and Finn scowls.  
  
"What brought you to Redcliffe?" What if this man is the source of the problem? An obvious outsider?  
  
"I'm not here to talk," the man practically barks, and she shakes her head, but before she can respond, Zevran cuts in.  
  
"You are simply here to act suspiciously, I take it," he suggests helpfully, with a small smile that doesn't reach his cold eyes.  
  
"What?" the man asks, clearly caught by surprise and a bit wide-eyed at Zevran. "I'm... not acting suspiciously!" he sputters.  
  
"Oh, now that was convincing," Zevran remarks. Though his gaze remains steady to the elf, the eye-roll in his tone is clear. The man panics.  
  
"Look, you're very pretty and all, but I was told to--" he stops and then suddenly turns on her again. "Just leave me alone," he whines, sounding put-upon. Finn is grateful for Zevran rattling the man because he finally gave her an opening.  
  
"What do you mean? What were you told to do?" she asks, and he goes pale. Her eyes narrow. "Start talking."  
  
"About what?! Just because you're a Grey Warden doesn't mean you can go around threatening people!" Finn flips out a small knife and leans in so quickly the man startles, as the point of it rests right under the edge of his jaw.  
  
"Finn--!" Alistair starts, but she ignores him, even as she hears him coming closer. He's trying to stop her but they don't have time to sweet-talk a spy into coughing up answers.  
  
"Watch me," she whispers to the spy from just inches away, searching his eyes. Her voice takes on a more normal volume as she continues. "I know what you are, so stop playing games. Who sent you?"  
  
The man breaks immediately, and Finn listens carefully. She leans back when he hands her a letter; she looks at it, but she passes it off to Alistair, choosing to keep her focus on Berwick, as she has now learned.  
  
"Finn," Alistair says again, and she feels the weight of his hand on her shoulder. She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze over where his hand rests, and he shakes his head. Finn looks back at Berwick again, then her eyes narrow, and she puts away the knife as though she had been entertaining killing him up to this moment. She hadn't been... not seriously.  
  
"The dead won't ask if you're from here before they attack. They're just coming for you. So go help defend this place if you hope to see another dawn," she tells him, gesturing toward the door. "Everyone is down in the town square." Berwick is so grateful to Alistair for apparently saving his life from Finn that he practically leaps out of his seat and runs out the door.  
  
The day passes far too quickly, as they fill every moment with preparation, but by the time night falls, they've done as much as possible. Everyone gathers in the town square, and the most vulnerable hide inside the Chantry, behind walls that will hold out an invasion if necessary.  
  
It turns out not to be necessary. With the Wardens and their friends in town, the defence is so well coordinated that nobody else dies this night. When the last of the shambling dead are struck down, the town rejoices. People come out of the Chantry and begin to sing. The hard work of gathering up the dead for pyres begins, as does some of the mourning, but these souls can all be laid to rest, and for that, everyone is profoundly grateful.  
  
There were no casualties, but there is a lot of injury, and some of it critical. Wynne heals Morrigan's life-threatening wound, and a crack in Leliana's ribs, but she rightfully decides that the people with the worst injuries should be healed first, which means Alistair and Finn are left on their own to patch each other up. Nothing that happened to them is life-threatening, not like a lot of the townsfolk suffered, but they're still not in good shape.  
  
They stand outside their tent on the edge of the lake, where water is easily accessed. Finn carefully helps Alistair out of his armour, ignoring her own bleeding for a time, because he's more important. Without him, she's lost, and so are the rest of them. They need his intelligence and his shield. They need his strength and wit. _She_ needs them. She needs _him_. Tonight, this thought is particularly powerful, especially when she sees the wicked gash in his side, where the armour plate didn't quite cover him.  
  
Alistair draws a slow breath as she pulls the fabric away from his wound, helping him get out of the stifling gambeson as gently as possible. This is when she discovers more wounds, on his arms, his back. A couple more on his legs. It frightens her sometimes, how scarred he would be without the injury kits and healing potions they carry.  
  
Carefully, Finn uses the contents of the injury kits and bottles of healing potion to put Alistair to rights. She doesn't complain of her own injuries at all. She's fairly certain the blow to the head she took is concussion-worthy, as the nausea churns and churns, and her ears are still ringing. It's probable that she's got a broken rib. The stab wound by her hip isn't doing her any favours. She can feel the blood pooling in her boot, and that doesn't bode well, especially since that side seems to be weakening. _She's_ weakening.  
  
The dizziness nearly overtakes her as she finishes with the one on Alistair's back, making him whole and safe again. She smiles brilliantly as he turns to look at her, so glad she's helped, that he's going to be all right. The headache pounding in her skull makes her see double, but that's all right. Before she can ask for a healing potion though, her lips go numb. Her fingertips rise to them with her confusion, her mind slowing down to a crawl. What had she been thinking about? The darkness closes in from all sides and she shakes her head, but it's too late.  
  
"You're safe now," she slurs, a peaceful smile curving her lips. She just needs to lay down for a moment. If she can reach the bedroll before she gets too sleepy to--  
  
.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.  
  
Alistair turns to thank Finn but she's got her fingers to her lips like something strange touched them. She looks up at him with the most beautiful smile, but something's wrong, her eyes going glassy even before she speaks. The slur fills him with alarm, and before he can say anything, convince her to sit down, _anything at all,_ she sways and collapses in a heap. He's able to catch her before her head hits the ground, and carries her to the water's edge so he can wash her off and figure out what happened.  
  
Quickly, he strips off her armour, her gambeson, her boots, gloves, and helm. What he sees terrifies him. She's so beat up. _Why does she always run straight for the danger?_ Alistair asks himself with despair. A nasty bruise is forming on her forehead, blood in her hair. A cut on her arm, another on her calf--surface wounds. A deep stab to her side, though, and one she took on the thigh, those are far more worrisome, and the sheer amount of blood she's losing as it pools beneath her is terrifying. He can't imagine how she was still _walking._ How could she have such injuries and not show it? Sure, they were all limping and treating themselves a little gingerly, but she hadn't seemed any worse off than the rest of them.  
  
He works as quickly as he can, but she's pale as death by the time he finishes patching her up, and her breathing is shallow. Why didn't she speak to Wynne?! Likely, she didn't think herself important enough, or maybe she just overestimated her strength, underestimated the severity of her condition. He sighs as he gathers her into his arms, drags her across his lap so he can pour a healing potion into her mouth. Fortunately, she swallows it automatically, and as it works, colour returns to her cheeks and he exhales, not having realised he was holding his breath until just now.  
  
"Finn-- You tried to leave me," he says, relieved laughter in his voice when she opens her eyes. He tips his head toward her hand when it curves over his cheek, and her smile makes his heart clench.  
  
"I knew I'd be all right. You're here," she says, as though it's that simple, and his eyes burn as his smile trembles a bit. She puts so much faith in him. Carefully, he brushes some of the blood-tacked hair off her forehead and shakes his head slowly, not quite able to believe she's in his arms.  
  
"Let's clean up, shall we? The lake might be cold, but it's wet, and that's enough to get the blood off." It wouldn't be the first time they'd bathed in cold water. At least it isn't mountain water. Finn leaps nimbly to her feet as though she hadn't just been on the cusp of death, as though nothing happened at all. She looks over her shoulder at him in the moonlight as she walks into the water fearlessly. Her resilience in the face of physical trauma is a direct and extreme contrast to her incredibly vulnerable heart. As he follows her in, he watches the water rippling around her waist, her shoulders, and his heart makes a curious leap that has him quietly whispering her name.

"Finn--" he begins, but she turns and he's struck silent. The moonlight reflects off the water onto her skin like scattering light, and he finds himself directly in front of her, reaching for her to kiss her breathless. She doesn't resist him, not this time, not a scrap of hesitation as she winds her arms around his shoulders and relaxes into his arms. He couldn't bear to lose her, and he knows it. That doesn't help anything, and he knows that, too. But for now, just for now, she's _alive_ , and so is he, and he thanks the Maker for that, because apparently she almost didn't make it.

She looks up at him, her eyes dark and lips plush when he draws back, and her arms are slow to drop from his shoulders, but her fingertips trail off his arms as she smiles at him and grabs hold of his heart tightly with her sparkling eyes.

"I thought you said we should wash up," she reminds him, playfully teasing tones to her voice, and he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah-- You're right; the water isn't exactly warm," he agrees. It isn't long before they're both shivering by the fire with tea in their hands and clean clothes covering them. Finn is right at his left side, her hip pressed to his, and he has a hard time not thinking about her as belonging there, where he can shield her. He wishes he could shield her from the demons of her past, but he at least seems to be helping her to turn away from them. He'll take that as a good sign.


End file.
